Tell Us The Tale
by sandalaris22
Summary: Like ink on parchment, he wonders what will fade. Arthur's getting married. Future!fic


**A/N: I fully blame LyrcaGWProd, aka lj-user=Aurelie, for this, although those that know me, know that "blame" is just a synonym for "dedicate to." After watching several of her Merthur vids, finally breaking down and watching two and half episodes (work called me in half way through episode three) and seeing nothing but the Merthur hints, (again, blame it on LyrcaGWProd) but knowing Arthur marries Guinevere and suddenly this just popped into my head at work. I swear I get most of ideas while working. Oh, and I have no idea how medieval weddings were I just know the bride didn't wear white.**

**I know it doesn't seem like it at first, but this is a Merthur fic, with some Gwen and Arthur friendship.**

Long, clumsy fingers tug the strings around his neck, fastening the dark cloak over his king's shoulders. The dark haired boy murmurs words of encouragement, or perhaps insults, as Arthur glances in the mirror, fixing golden locks once more to lay better around his crown. He imagines the scratching of quill on parchment, recording this day down and wonders how much the story will hold, how long the tale will last and how much truth will survive the years, or even just to the outer villages.

The young warlock brushes his shoulders, smoothing the material in place and he begins wonders if Merlin will be told of, if even a foot note will mention a nameless manservant of the king. He doubts it.

"You're ready." It wasn't a question, but the older man nodded anyways, glancing once more at his manservant before turning and walking out his chamber door.

The trip down to the Main Hall was a rush of bodies and noises, a mad buzz of activity that left the young king feeling slightly dizzy. The Hall was just as filled with movement, servants hurried footsteps leading those of noble birth to their seats, last minute decorations placed where they're needed and Arthur felt himself getting rushed forward into his place upfront. It seems like it's mere minutes before the voices dies down, music rising as the main doors open, revealing the bride, _his bride,_ to all.

Gwen's eyes sparkle in excitement, pale material bringing out the dark tones in her skin and hugging the curve of her waist. She was beautiful, and he wonders if someone is recording this down in words, how the Queen of Camelot came to be. The edge of his mouth quirks up as she reaches his side, wondering if the Great Love Affair of King Arthur and his Lady Guinevere would one day be spun and told and he nearly chuckles aloud and the thought.

They kneel together, one gloved hand clasping her bare one as they turn to the man before them. The words spoken over them are barely heard, the cues long since memorized, responses automatic as the ceremony concludes and servants bring in dishes piled high with food as everyone is lead to the long tables in the other room. The new bride and groom are quickly ushered to the high table, plates filled with food placed before them and Arthur feels a smile turn up the corners of his lips as he sees Merlin trip his way to Guis' side.

It's hours later when he's before his chamber door, the wood grain rough under his hand as the newly married king pushes it open and slips inside. There's another door off to the right leading to Gwen's chamber as befitting a married couple, but they both know it'll get barely, if any, use in the coming years.

He wonders if Gwen has made it back to her room yet. Secrets are a natural part of being in the castle (he's pretty sure a good handful of guards know Merlin practices magic and knows at least two others suspect) and his men know that neither he nor his new bride will be seeing each other again until well past breakfast.

"That was exhausting." Blue eyes seek out his manservant, catching sight of him lounging in a chair before the dark haired boy pushes himself up and makes his way over. Nimble fingers begin undoing fastening, pulling strings, allowing the cloak to pull around the king's feet.

He lets out a rough snort, chin dropping forward onto his chest as he rolls his eyes up to meet Merlin's. "Not too exhausting. It _is_ my wedding night." He can't stop the wicked grin from spreading across his face, or his hands from reaching up to tug on the blue cloth neckerchief around the other boy's neck tossing it aside, he gets an eye roll for his effort. But there's a grin on the warlock's face as the king's calloused fingers start working on the rough material across the slim figure and he can't resist leaning in to press a quick kiss to that open mouth.

Arthur hopes his wife will have company this evening, someone to share her opinions and her bed with on her wedding night. His thoughts are tugged back to the room when he finds a particularly difficult tie on Merlin's tunic. It's annoyingly frustrating that his bumbling idiot of a manservant can get Arthur's clothes on and off with such ease, keeping up a constant stream of bubbling chatter, but he still can't even seem to get one article of clothing off the boy without it requiring all of his concentration.

As the material finally comes away, revealing pale shoulders as it falls to the stone floor and the young king moves his boy back to towards the bed, he thinks it really is a shame that the world would will never know the story of Merlin.


End file.
